


Stehen auf der Speisekarte

by Menfinske



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Challenges, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25406323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menfinske/pseuds/Menfinske
Summary: Paul challenges Schneider to see who would be able to eat their dinner the fastest.The challenge? They can only use their instrument utensils!
Comments: 9
Kudos: 16





	Stehen auf der Speisekarte

The dinner hall is practically empty. A group of half a dozen stage-hands are eating at a table in the corner. There’s a couple eating their dinner a few tables down too. Surely new love, judging by the way they keep feeding each other bites occasionally. Other than them, only Paul and Schneider are present.

Schneider had grabbed some pasta earlier, but he’s leaning back while being on his phone now. Paul hadn’t grabbed any food yet, he’d apparently come in mostly for the sake of having company. He appears utterly bored either way, tapping his foot impatiently while he practically glares the phone out of Schneider’s hand.

“You could go find somebody else, you know?” Schneider observes after Paul yawns. He barely glances up from his phone while he’s doing so. He’s reading an article which had caught his interest and he doesn’t feel much for rewarding Paul for being annoying by letting him accomplish his goal.

“There’s nobody here. Flake went out for a hike and I’ve been told Richard and Till haven’t arrived here yet. Oliver should be, but I’ve looked all over without success,” Paul rambles, clearly excited to get some attention. Then heaves a sigh when no reaction is forthcoming.

Silence resumes between them, only broken by the sound of chatting come from the table in the corner and occasionally someone calling down the hall outside of the dinner area. Schneider reaches the end of the article he was reading and puts his phone away, finding Paul grinning broadly at the prospect of a Schneider without phone in hand.

“Grab something to eat,” Schneider tells the other man when he draws the plate with his (by now cold) pasta towards himself.

“Not hungry yet.”

“It’ll give you something to do. And avoid only eating after the concert anyway.” The second is the major part of the issue here. Paul becoming too hectic prior to the show to remember to eat properly. Till generally had some Knackebröd to offer him to give him something to play the show on a little ways before the show and Paul never complained, liking it regardless. Still, when he’s in the dinner area, he might as well try and get Paul to eat some dinner.

“Eating isn’t something to do,” Paul huffs, brushing the suggestion off without much thought. “Besides, you tend to complain when I talk with my mouth full. This quite effectively avoids that,” Paul reasons. “Unless- unless you want to make it interesting.”

“How would I make it interesting?” Schneider questions, not entirely sure how pleased he will be to learn the answer.

“Well- you could, for instance, make me eat upside down. See how well I’d succeed.” Schneider looks at Paul incredulously for the silly idea. Paul chuckles happily. “Okay, I guess not. Oh, we’ll interpret how the big spaghetti-monster would look like.”

“You can put it into any shape you want, as long as you eat it.”

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Paul calls out, looking very cheerful. “We’ll make it a challenge. We’ll race each other for who can eat the fastest. But,” Paul says, holding his hand up before Schneider can protest, “Not using fork and knife. Instead, you’ll use your drumsticks. See if you can use them as chopsticks. And I will use my picks.”

“Your picks? How would you even use that?” Schneider can’t help but grin now.

“Oh, I’ll bet it’s not even that hard,” Paul waves it off. “Depending on what you eat anyway. I’ll bet I can eat the chicken rice. Use the end to prick into the chicken and then eat it and use the flat to scoop up the rice, since it’s sticky with the sauce anyway.”

"I think you might be a bit too optimistic there. But- alright, let's do it," Schneider says. It will get Paul to eat, at least. No knackebröd needed for a change. And it's not even Till or Richard who managed to get him to eat for a change. Paul beams a large smile before he gets up, walking away from the table while calling back:

"I'll grab your sticks as well. Then you can sit there and prepare for the humiliating defeat you're going to suffer. Preferably while grabbing me some of that chicken and rice."

Schneider rises from the bench to walk over to the buffet, grabbing a plate and scooping the rice up on it. It for sure is saucy, but it's far less sticky than Paul surely hopes. He might actually not get Paul to eat much, if the man is just going to use a pick. Then again, Schneider acknowledges as he walks back to the table, it's not as if his drumsticks are guaranteed to be effective either.

Paul returns a few moments later, still with a big, beaming smile on his face. He takes the seat he abandoned before and places the sticks and picks on the table in between them. Then narrows his eyes while looking at their plates.

"That's not fair, you have less food," he exclaims, taking Schneider's plate without allowing the other man to protest and walking over to the buffet to add more spaghetti to the stack. Schneider refrains from protesting that he now has a considerably fuller plate, instead he takes his sticks and waits for Paul to take his pick.

"Ready?" Schneider questions, amused about the way Paul's eyes are narrowed with his competitiveness. The smaller man nods firmly. "Then in three- two- one!"

Paul immediately digs his pick into a piece of chicken. It works surprisingly well, the meat clinging to it while Paul raises his hand to his face. Or- perhaps it doesn't work that well. It falls just before Paul reaches his mouth, falling back into the rice with a wet noise emphasizing the failure. Schneider laughs even as he tries to get his sticks between his fingers like chopsticks. Clearly, his sticks are quite a bit bigger than chopsticks regularly are. Both in length as well as thickness.

Schneider places the first stick between his thumb and index finger, using his ring finger to keep it secured in place. As much as he can, anyway, not generally used to eating with chopsticks in the first place. He then takes the second stick and holds it between the pad of his thumb and his middle finger.

There. They’re in place, at least. Schneider moves his index finger to move the ends towards each other, finding that it actually goes quite efficiently. With a grin on his face, he moves the ends of his sticks towards the spaghetti on his plate, seeing that Paul had brought his face considerably closer to the table to avoid the meat falling off just before reaching his mouth.

“You look ridiculous hunched over your food like that,” Schneider observes.

“Are you afraid I’ll win this way?” Paul taunts happily, demonstratively stabbing another piece of meat with his pick and bringing it towards his mouth. “Mh, delicious,” he determines. Schneider can’t help but let out an amused chuckle even as he brings the ends of his sticks together inside the spaghetti, drawing it back out.

As Schneider removes the sticks from the heap on his plate, initially it goes well. There’s several noodles stuck between the two ends, coming forward nicely. Until it catches on other noodles somewhere on the ends and the distance between the two ends, caused by his sticks ending with a bit of a mushroom shape, causes the spaghetti to slip out of the sticks’ grip easily.

Paul laughs happily when Schneider withdraws his sticks completely to have a grand total of 3 noodles remaining. Schneider quickly eats them before they as well have a chance to fall, before pointing his ‘chopsticks’ at Paul.

“Just you wait until all the meat’s gone. I’m sure you’ll have a blast trying to eat the rice.”

“It’s basically a spoon,” Paul brushes Schneider’s caution off, holding up his pick. “See? I mean, it’s not round like a spoon, but it’s got surface area for rice to be on.”

“Very minimal amount of surface area. You might get 3 grains of rice on there at once,” Schneider observes even as he puts his sticks back in the spaghetti.

“I’ll make it work,” he nods determinedly. Schneider has to give him points for his confidence in the challenge, at least. As much as the spaghetti slides easily from between his drumsticks, at least he gets a few noodles each time. Once Paul runs out of chicken, which is very soon indeed with only 3 pieces remaining now, he’s going to find out small his pick really is while he’s holding it.

Besides, Schneider is getting more noodles with each scoop now. With the problem being the noodles catching on the remaining noodles on the plate, Schneider had decided to scoop from the top instead of the middle. His initial thought of ‘there’s most chance of spaghetti being squished between the two ends in the middle’ replaced by ‘on top there’s less chance of it snagging on other noodles’. And it’s working.

“What’s going to be the price when I inevitably win anyway?” Schneider asks, actually quite enjoying the challenge now that they’re doing it.

“Oh, when you inevitably win huh? You know the saying, Schneider? Pride comes before the fall?”

“Alright, what will be the price for whoever wins?” Schneider asks, though his grin makes it very clear that it’s only a rephrasing of the question, not the thought. Paul rolls his eyes while he appears to think it over. Then, glancing at Schneider’s plate, a large smirk plasters itself on Paul’s face.

“The loser has to send his nudes to the winner. You know, because you’re eating noodles. Nudes for noods.”

“You’re such a child sometimes,” Schneider tells him, though he can’t help but laugh along with Paul. “Fine. I’m looking forward to seeing your nudes in my inbox.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Paul wiggles his eyebrows. “With how long it’s been since you saw the real thing. Let me tell you- I age like a fine wine.”

“Yes, your modesty grows by the year as well,” Schneider quips drily. Paul nods his agreement very seriously, despite the sarcastic nature of the comment, before he focuses back on his plate. He puts the pick in his rice, withdrawing it and bringing it to his mouth. “Hey, you cheat!” Schneider calls out. “You’re eating with your fingers, not your pick.”

“What? No, I’m not. Look, it’s on the pick,” Paul points to the grains on his fingers and, while admittedly each grain does touch his pick, there’s still four that would definitely have fallen off if they didn’t lean on his fingers. “I’ll have to hold the pick, or do you suggest I somehow use telekinesis?”

“That’s just not fair,” Schneider determines, though he seizes further protest. Even with the added grains due to his fingers, it would take a while for Paul to be able to finish his plate. Whereas Schneider is making- well, honestly, he’s making good progress. Already a quarter of his plate is gone and it’s getting easier with less spaghetti remaining to snag on.

After a handful more bites, Paul appears to realize that Schneider, indeed, is winning. He narrows his eyes at the diminishing heap of spaghetti still present on Schneider’s plate before he reaches his left hand down. Schneider briefly wonders what on earth Paul is going to do, a little afraid that the man would resort to pinching Schneider’s leg or whatever to try and get him to loose focus. Even though it’s gotten significantly better in recent years, Paul is a bit of a sore loser.

Instead, however, Paul apparently reached into his pocket to retrieve a second pick. He beams at Schneider, clearly believing it’s going to make all the difference. Lowering his face even further, he basically begins to shovel his food just past the rim of the plate and right into his mouth.

And indeed, with this method, he begins to genuinely become faster, even if his left hand is considerably less effective than his right one is. In fact- with how quickly he’s eating now and Schneider’s continued issues with spaghetti sliding off his drumsticks, he’s actually catching up more quickly than Schneider would like.

Doubling his efforts in finishing off his own plate, Schneider pays less attention to Paul’s antics (which is just as well, because he looks utterly ridiculous and Schneider isn’t sure how much he can look at the other man without beginning to laugh) and more attention to his own progress. He manages to squeeze more noodles firmly between the ends now that he’s paying attention and they both are making quicker progress.

Still, it’s going to be a close one who might actually win. While Schneider’s sticks are surely more effective than the small surface area on Paul’s pick, Paul’s method is very effective. Schneider is inclined to call it cheating, even, except that Paul surely does move the rice with his picks instead of just inhaling his food.

“I’m not so sure you’re going to win anymore, Schneider. Sure looks like quite some pasta still on your plate. I’m almost done,” Paul taunts. Schneider huffs but doesn’t respond, focused on trying to finish his plate before Paul finishes his. Even if, admittedly, that hope is getting slimmer and slimmer with every passing minute.

Indeed, Schneider’s diminishing heap of pasta is still partly there when Paul has only a dozen grains of rice remaining. A dozen grains of rice that quite quickly are shoved into Paul’s waiting mouth, which closes while the man throws his hands up victoriously, managing to sling one remaining grain of rice across the room because it had stuck to the pick.

“Ha! See, I win,” Paul exclaims victoriously. Schneider puts his drumsticks down and begins to clap his hands. Paul takes a napkin and wipes his plate clean before rising to his feet and taking a bow.

“Thank you, thank you. This would not have been possible without Schneider being a slowpoke with the sticks,” Paul teases. He takes the now clean plate and holds it over his head as if it’s a trophy. Schneider laughs even as he throws one of his sticks at Paul, who grins happily as he sits back down. “Hey, you still need this. Your spaghetti isn’t finished yet,” Paul innocently responds, handing Schneider his stick back.

“I have a fork.”

“Ah, yes. But wouldn’t it be much more satisfying to finish what you started?”

Schneider shakes his head, but takes his drumsticks regardless, finishing his plate with the improvised chopsticks. Paul sits back happily, watching with a big grin on his face while Schneider finishes his food.

Mere moments after Schneider takes the last bite and has put his drumsticks back down on the table, Flake and Oliver walk towards them, each carrying a plate of their own choice of food with them. Flake looks suspicious as he takes a seat at the table, glancing at the two men who’d already finished their food curiously.

“Why do you both look like a toddler unable to find their own mouths yet?” Flake questions. Schneider glances at Paul, realizing quite some of the sauce had made its way around Paul’s mouth instead of in it. Surely the same must be the case on himself, then. Paul begins to laugh loudly.

“Guess we’d better go clean up then,” he determines. “Oh, and Schneider?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll send you a picture of a pose I like. Since I am the winner, after all.”


End file.
